


The (Ar)Soulmate Principle

by Peasantaries



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bonding, British Slang, Cultural Differences, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Crack, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-17
Updated: 2017-07-06
Packaged: 2018-08-23 02:18:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8309947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: Arthur and Eames have two very different opinions on bonding. Too bad they're the perfect match.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a little teaser prologue for what's to come, if I get a big reception, I'll try and update sooner!!

Here are some social cues put simply in Eames' own words:

• Soul mates are for life, not just for Christmas.

• Wait until you find your soul mate. You know. For sex.

• Once you find your soul mate, you have to throw a party and invite anything and everything you know.

• Love has no limits blah blah blah, so if two people are put together whom are not of the preferred gender, age, race, religion, culture or species, smile and wave, boys, smile and wave.

• At the ceremony you need to be in a suit. No, that's not a shirt and slacks, Eames. That's a suit.

• People can have at least 2 soul mates in the world. You are not alone. 

• Be a good citizen and pick up litter.

Eames has truly given up the fallacy of love and soul-mates or other such plebeian nonsense.

These facts are true:

Eames has grown up with his two un soul-mated parents who never went to the ceremony and ran away together at 17.  
Eames' aunt died, and Eames' uncle committed suicide. They were mated.  
Eames' friends are all dating.  
Eames lost his virginity and he can't even remember it.  
The ceremony is next week.

 

Here's Arthur's take on the situation:

• Your life doesn't begin until you meet your soulmate.

• Sit quietly and patiently in the ceremony. Drink plenty of water and straighten your tie at opportune moments.

• Be respectful of others soul mates and do not judge.

• Wash your hands at least twice a day.

• Use un-scented deodorant. Your soul mate will appreciate your natural smell.

• Have a small party on the night of the ceremony and stay sober and be impressive. Introduce your mate to close family and friends and be introduced. Smile, and act polite.

• Be a good citizen and pick up litter.

Here's Arthur's whole life story in summation:

Arthur's parents were childhood friends since the sandpit and were proclaimed soul mates before, during and after the ceremony.  
Arthur's grandparents are soul mates.  
All Arthur's older cousins are soul-mated.  
All Arthur's friends are waiting.  
Arthur is secretly terrified he won't have a soul mate.  
Arthur loves with his whole being.  
The ceremony is tomorrow.

*  
*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the love and support! I haven't been in the inception fandom in ages, and I missed writing these two idiots!

Eames splays his legs out comfortably, slouching back, before being roughly yanked back up again.

"Eames." His dad hisses, holding him by the shirt collar.

Eames dislodges his shoulder from his fathers grip. "Yeah, yeah." 

"Now I know how you feel about these things." Papa dearest begins on one of his many lectures. "But Eames, this is your bonding ceremony. Me and your mother might not have went, but things are different to how they were when we first met-- "

Eames zones out and gets distracted by a pretty face, glancing around subtly and strumming their fingers on their knee.

It's an expensive suit, Eames can see. Finely tailored, well cut. They've made an effort. Eames feels his gaze sliding, and looks back up to find a pair of eyes focused on him.

The stranger has his eyebrows raised, challenging. 

Eames drops him a wink.

The guy sighs, flitting his gaze away disinterestedly. 

Eames tries not to pout. The only interesting thing in this place finds him, well, uninteresting.

Upon stepping foot inside the place, Eames had given up. 

Everyone was walking on eggshells, nervous and unsure, not daring to look at one another, as if by doing so it would instantly nullify their right to a soulmate because it would be classed as cheating and their life would be over died dead the end. 

Honestly, Eames was starting to feel like Medusa by that point. 

The love of his life is certainly not in this building. 

He's never really gotten behind the whole 'soulmate' malarkey. Eames is more of a free spirit, a love who you want to love kind of guy, and so he's never really seen the advantage of restricting yourself to one person you've never met for the better half of your life. 

Until you're eighteen years old, you're basically _waiting. ___

And so Eames thought, _fuck that. ___

It's utter pish. You could meet someone and fall in love with them: their personality, their humour, their _soul, _and yet it still wouldn't qualify as love, because, "well, they're not your soulmate, are they pal?"__

______Eames called bullshit. Of course it was love - who are they to define the word? Who the hell is anybody? Love is love; it means something wholly different and individual to different people._ _ _ _ _ _

The soulmate principe is basically chemically induced compatibility. Alright, so he's not exactly sure how it all _works _, but he's pretty sure you don't touch someone and instantly fall in love with them.__

________It's bullshit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________And of course, the whole event is televised. Because they do live in the twenty first century, and if it doesn't make you money, it doesn't make you anything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Really, Eames is a cheery guy, but it's enough to make anyone cynical._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________Being a free spirit, Eames is also not a virgin. Which is basically considered a sin in their society._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

________The whole thing is glamourised; made to be beautiful, cosmic, when really it's just another way for the government to control you._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Okay, so maybe it's not exactly The Hunger Games, but the fact that you have to _register _when you stop wearing your chastity ring is ridiculous.__

__________"I need a piss."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

" _Eames _." His mother reprimands.__

____________"Do you really?" His dad asks. "Can't you hold it in?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"When a man needs to go, he needs to go." Eames says grandly, hands spread._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"They're going to start calling names soon."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames snorts, because as if that's a valid argument, but his mother purses her mouth._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________"Alright, fine, I'll be two seconds, the toilet is just there."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________His dad gives him a disapproving look, but doesn't say anything._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Eames squeezes past, almost falling across the laps of many unsuspecting young ladies, who gasp as if this is the 1800's and they haven't even been given rights yet._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________Really. He prays that none of them are his._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

____________It'll be fine, Eames thinks. He'll back in time, everything will be fine._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

So of course he's wrong. It figures of all the names in the word, his soulmate's would start with the letter _A _.__

______________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Arthur takes a deep breath, trying to stall his nerves and he straightens his suit._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Perfect." His mom kisses his cheek, squeezing both shoulders as she passes him in the hallway._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Don't you think it's a little too much?"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Nonsense, it's a fantastic suit."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"I know that." Arthur says. "I'm talking about ..." he trails off as he gestures to all the balloons; the elegant banners and brightly coloured cake._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"It's important!" His mom replies. "It's the most important moment of your life."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Oh, so graduating college, getting married, having children --"_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________"Arthur." His mom begins softly. "I know you're nervous." She says. "I was nervous too, but then I met your dad, and look at us now. I can be daunting, but it's also amazing."_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________Arthur keeps those words in his mind as he taps his foot. His mother is sat beside him, watching the commentators announce the ceremony with a speech about love and soulmates._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________He's watches the show for the last ten years, he could recite the opening lines in ten seconds._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________In truth, Arthur has always been glad for the soulmate principle. He's quite an uptight person, although he's trying not to be. He can also be mean when he wants._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Arthur knows that he's not an easy person to love, but the guarantee that at least _somebody _will love him has always soothed his inner fears.__

Then again, they still seem to resurface. _What if you don't have a soulmate? What if you're so chemically unloveable that the soulmate principle doesn't work? What if there's something so skewered and broken inside, that you'll stand up at that podium and all you'll hear is silence? You're too curt, too harsh. Nobody can love all those jagged edges. ___

___________________He feels his leg bouncing, and glances around to distract himself._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________He finds himself caught in the gaze of a stranger, slumped in their seat and checking him out._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Arthur raises an eyebrow, and receives a wink._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________He turns away in dismissal. Some people totally disrespect the ceremony; they don't understand the sanctity of soulmates, the gift that having one means._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

___________________Well, him and this stranger will be totally incompatible in that respect._ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_At least he's not mine, _Arthur thinks._ _


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Apologies for the lateness of this update, but I will always update

When Arthur steps foot on the podium, his stomach cramps painfully, nerves winding his gut tight.

 _It’s fine, you’ll be fine._ Arthur exhales. _You just have to get through this, and then you’ll have a soulmate. Everything will be fine._

He takes his spot, heart hammering, the producers and stage directors smiling warmly as he passes, pointing him on, and then Arthur’s in the spotlight, standing under the warmth and blinding white.

Oh God, everyone is going to see his hair gel and think he’s not had a proper wash in weeks. It’s going to look so _greasy_. The light is going to show up every flaw that mars his face, the pimple above his eyebrow, the tired lines underneath his eyes.

All the noise around him fades as his breathing picks up, sounds growing fuzzy and Arthur stares down at his blurring feet, trying to focus his vision.

It takes a moment to realise they’ve already called a name.

Arthur blinks, awareness suddenly sharpening. He whips his head over to Dom Cobb, microphone in hand and nervous smile ticking one side of his mouth.

“Uh, Eames?” He calls, looking down at his speech card, very obviously repeating it, and to Arthur’s slowly dawning horror, nothing happens.

“I.” Dom clears his throat, and glances away to the producers. They’ve making frantic hand gestures.

Arthur wants to cry.

He wants to evaporate, melt into the floor and cease to exist. His worst nightmare of all nightmares is happening before him, and he’s helpless to stop it.

He looks out onto the crowd powerlessly, sees his mom catch his gaze and smile reassuringly, nodding as if trying to communicate something.

Arthur suddenly can’t bear to look at her, otherwise tears really will prick his eyes.

He averts his gaze quickly, only to see a woman arguing with the security guards near the main stage, expression desperate and pleading as she points far off.

Arthur can’t hear what she’s saying.

The sound of a door being violently opened so hard it clatters against the side of the wall startles everyone.

Someone is running, desperately running down the walkway to the stage, and Arthur – including everyone else – can only watch in bewilderment as he sprints haphazardly onto the stage, clamoring up the steps.

“Huh – huh.” The guy pants once he reaches the top, stopping for a second to put hands on his knees and bend down. Cobb is motionless, frozen, but then the guy waves a hand toward him and straightens.

Arthur, distantly, recognises him as the person who winked.

This is a joke. A cruel, cosmic joke.

“Hi.” The guy strides up, beaming wide and crooked, suddenly unruffled, and holds out a hand. “I’m Eames.” Says a deeply British voice.

Arthur gapes, and then he tightens his jaw, crossing his arms and stepping back.

Eames’ expression falters, just for a second, before he smoothly tucks his hand back into his suit trouser and offers the camera a sheepish grin.

There’s nervous laughter spattered throughout the audience.

Arthur feels a muscle in his jaw jump as he grits his teeth.

“Well then.” Cobb begins. “Trouble in paradise already.”

The audience laugh loud this time.

Eames pouts. “I’m sorry, love.” He begins, all show. “I really didn’t expect to be first.”

There are murmured _aww’s_ throughout the crowd.

“Are you going to take his hand?” Cobb asks, cajoling.

Arthur considers saying no, he very honestly considers it. Considers asking them for the next person he’s compatible with.

They all have to go for routine bloods every six months until they’re eighteen and matched, so the government can collect data and find the perfect compliment.

Arthur’s never really sure how it’s all done, he's no scientist, but he knows it’s through something called major histocompatibility complex. It's how all animals select mates through their senses, by determining who has the greatest genetic diversity to their own. That way, their offspring will have greater immune systems, be healthier and more attractive and generally, it allows for the best potential future generations to come.

Of course, there’s more to the soulmate principle than that. They’re all taught in school how there’s someone out there specially made just for them, but in some ways, it’s true. With the reach the government have, they really can find the person that’s most chemically compatible to you, physically and emotionally similar, interested in the same things, in the same age group. Divorce rates are lower, health rates are higher, among people who choose to be with their mated person. It's simply better in every way.

When you shake hands with your chosen one, you’re supposed to just know. It’s not meant to be a feeling described in words, an emotion that you’re able to recognise. But this person was moulded to fit you, and in turn, you were meant for them. It’s a moment of immense power, one you’ll never forget.

They’re assigned their arena in the months leading up to their 18th birthdays, and sometimes it’s halfway around the world. Luckily, Arthur was assigned somewhere in America, but he knows most people here have come from Europe, Canada, Australia. Language barriers are always taken into account, but the English ceremonies are usually held first, being one of the most diverse ceremonies to try and organise.

Arthur searches the crowd, eyes flitting past blank faces, seeking out someone he might be better suited to, despite the fact he would have no way of knowing.

Eames watches the direction of Arthur’s gaze and his brows furrow darkly before he clears his expression and holds out a hand again, shaking it a little bit for emphasis whilst scuffing his feet in a show of being shy.

Arthur knows if he refused this man, he would be publicly hated for life. Eames has already shown himself to be confident, charming, _cunning_ : plucking the audience’s heartstrings like a talented musician. His expression is both apologetic and impish, but there’s something knowing that lurks behind his eyes.

It’s not, _take my hand._ It’s, _you really need to take my hand._

Arthur feels as if his teeth should be sanded into dust by now. He jerks a hand out and clasps Eames’ hand roughly.

Cheers erupt from the audience, but Arthur’s eyes are on Eames, and he glares for all his worth.

Eames’ eyebrow ticks up, once, before he schools his expression again into a blank mask.

“Well, Eames.” Cobb comes closer, tipping the mic towards Eames. “Anything to say.”

Eames keeps his eyes on Arthur as he says, “I can only offer my deepest, sincerest apologies.” He bows, still acting for the cameras.

Cobb leans toward Arthur now. “Arthur? Anything to add about your new soulmate?” He grins a winning smile.

“He’s an asshole.” Arthur states, shocking some people into gasps.

Eames is thrown, eyes wide and face pale.

“If he thinks I’m letting him off that easy.” Arthur smiles, flirtatious, with a gentle flick of his hair. The audience roars, the sound of laughter and cheering drowning almost everything out.

Eames has the gall to look delighted, colourful pink gracing his features as he beams with all his teeth. Arthur keeps his smile plastered on as they make their way backstage, and Eames is whispering to him, ‘genius pet, I am awfully sorry about the little mishap, you see –”

Arthur rips off his tie before turning to face Eames, everything he can been holding back now in plain sight.

Eames blinks, taken aback. “I – Arthur –”

He says Arthur’s name so easily, as if he knows Arthur, as if Arthur actually told him it, as if he has _any right._

“Don’t call me that.” Arthur states.

“Wh – your name?” Eames asks incredulously.

Arthur feels himself vibrating with anger, and balls his hands into fists at his sides, crushing his very _expensive_ very _pretty_ silk tie.

“You know we both could have gotten out of that.” Arthur hisses, but Eames simply frowns, none the wiser.

“The ceremony? Darling it’s mandatory, I’m not sure why you thought I felt like taking a ten-hour flight –”

“No, _asshole_.” Arthur spits. “The fact that we’re now bonded.”

Eames pretends to appear confused, putting a finger to his lips. “Mm, still not sure how you thought us being called out on national television is somehow my fault –”

“ _You know_ everyone has at least two soulmates, it doesn’t just _end_ at the first person you’re compatible with, and _you knew_  I was going to try and stop it–”

"Okay so one, it's not the first person you're compatible with, it's the person you're _most_ compatible with, and two, this is all bollocks, everyone knows the ceremony is a farce - "

“This isn’t bollocks, this is my _life._ ” Arthur’s voice is rising. “ _This is my life,_ and now I’m saddled with _you!_ ” He shouts.

Hurt strikes across Eames’ face, pain as if he’s just been slapped.

Arthur hears what he’s just said, and knows it’s worse than anything Eames has done to him tonight.

“Eames –” He starts.

“You’re a fucking arse.” Eames spits. “You think I want to be bonded to some righteous prick who can’t accept an apology? Sounds like a lovely marriage.”

Heat sears Arthur’s skin, sweat prickling all over. “Yeah? Well then it’s a deal.” He states. “We’ll both say we don’t want to get bonded, and they’ll give us our other soul– compatible– fucking _whatever_.” Arthur gesticulates.

A smirk settles over Eames’ face, and he holds out a hand, challenging.

Arthur takes it, and this time, he smiles too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow, is this so totally overdue, along with basically anything I ever produce. I'm trying to actually update and complete my fics so I can afford to post new work, so watch this space (probably, maybe)

Of course, before they can even do anything, they have to get through the party first.

Arthur’s whole family have been invited; his whole second-family twice-removed, everyone and anyone he’s ever known. He told his mom he didn’t want a huge gathering, but as soon as he spotted the balloons hastily tucked away last week, he knew it was a lost cause.

Of course, this is probably the biggest moment of his life. People tend to celebrate these things – turning eighteen, becoming an adult, meeting the person you’ll _spend the rest of your life with._

Arthur and Eames are silent on the ride home, sitting as far apart in the car as possible, plastered to each side and steadfastly looking out the window.

Arthur glares out at the passing trees that blur in front of him, his jaw aching with how hard he’s gritting his teeth. Of course, the biggest moment of his life had to be the biggest disappointment.

“Dunno what you’re still sulking about.” Eames mutters. “I’m going to your bloody party.”

“I’m introducing you to my closet friends and family when I know you’re not sticking around.” Arthur hisses back, but quietly, so his mom doesn’t hear.

“You want me to just pop off here?” Eames offers, a pleasant smile on his face.

Arthur seethes. “I want you to shut up, it’s the least you can do.”

“Jesus Christ, I’ve _apologised_ –”

“Shh.” Arthur hisses, glancing to his mom driving, but she seems blissfully unaware.

Eames arches a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, humour softening his features. This close, it seems to punch Arthur just how attractive he is, with his sharply defined jaw, unusually bright eyes. Arthur wants to curse the world for his rotten luck. Of course he’s beautiful.

The thought crosses his mind before he can even stop it. _Beautiful?_ Nobody said anything about beauty. If anything, Eames is as far away from the word as possible. Arrogance has nothing to do with beauty.

Arthur huffs and turns away, jaw clenched, and there’s silence between them for a while.

“How long have you known?” Eames asks, and Arthur frowns.

“That you were gay.” He elaborates casually, as if he’s asking about the weather. He might as well be chewing gum and blowing bubbles for all his disinterested tone of voice.

Arthur blinks in shock. “I really don’t see how that’s relevant.”

Eames shrugs, still casual. “Just weird, innit? How they know.” He makes an aerial kind of gesture, spinning a finger in the sky. “Some kind of big brother shit.”

Arthur continues to stare.

Eames seems to be waiting for something, but the longer Arthur does reply, the longer he appears to realise he’s not going to get an answer.

Eames huffs, turning back to the window.

There’s a beat.

“Probably always.”

Eames turns to him, surprised.

Arthur tries to re-enact Eames’ casual demeanour. “Always, I guess. Ever since I was the age to actually know.”

Eames is quiet. “Jesus, and here I thought it might open up some light conversation.” He says, but his voice is changed, less bitter and acidic. “Thought you might say something like seeing your teammate with his pants down or something.”

Arthur tries not to let his mouth twitch. “What, since my childhood bully threw me in a puddle and I realised I had a kink for masochism?” He asks innocently.

Eames snorts sharply. “That classic one.”

Arthur bites the inside of his cheek. “It’s always popular.”

“What are the other few possibilities again?” Eames asks, as if he’s genuinely curious, but his eyes are dancing.

“I think it’s – missing father figure.” Arthur tilts his head. “Or you’re a twin. One or the other.”

“Just being a twin?” Eames inquires, but there’s definitely laughter in his voice.

“Twins are wholly unexplored creatures.” Arthur states. “If in doubt, they’re probably a twin.”

“Or – isn’t there another one?” Eames asks. “An extra chromosome or something?”

“That’s got to be it.” Arthur nods. “Gay people are largely supernatural.”

Eames is grinning now. “Otherwise it’s some traumatic experience that sets you down the wrong path.”

“Thought that was covered with the bully?” Arthur tuts softly. “You need to expand your creativity.”

“My apologies.” Eames holds up his hands. “What I meant was – isn’t it usually your therapist slowly conditions you to think all women will cause harm to your genitals, and that’s why you’ve always been kind of afraid of your mum?”

Arthur whistles, but he’s fighting a smile. “That’s a new one. Can’t say I’ve heard it.”

Eames raises his eyebrows again, but it’s less mocking this time, and welcomes a strange happiness in Arthur’s stomach. “No?”

“I was under the impression the trauma was seeing your parents doing it and realising that’s what they’ve been doing all along.”

Eames stifles a snicker. “Or realising your dad likes the whip.”

“Caught him in a submissive pose with a leather collar.”

“Along with his golf buddy that one time.”

“So close.” Arthur starts. “Golf _buddies_.”

It startles a sudden laugh from Eames, a big, broad sound that’s as expressive as he is. Arthur tries not to follow, but it’s impossible, and he’s laughing as well, finally letting it free.

“What was it, for you?” Arthur has to ask, still grinning. “When did you know?”

“As soon as I saw you, darling.” Eames proclaims, and winks in exaggerated fashion.

Really, it’s ridiculously cheesy, and maybe it’s the jokes before or the way Eames says it, but Arthur can’t help but laugh anyway, tipping his head back.

“What you two laughing about?” His mom suddenly says, and Arthur realises they’ve stopped, and they’re parked outside his house.

Instantly, he feels his gut clench in sickening nausea, imagining all the people inside waiting for him, waiting to meet his soulmate –

“This and that.” Eames offers, as if sensing Arthur’s distress. “We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

His mom gives him a look, but Arthur only manages a tight smile and a nod before she’s stepping back.

"Hey.” Arthur hears at his side, but there’s suddenly white noise filling his ears, making it difficult to breathe.

“Hey.” There are warm, strong fingers wrapping around his wrist. “Arthur. I’m not an arsehole, right, I promise. I’m not gonna say anything to your family in there.”

“I know, I know.” Arthur reassures, unthinkingly. “It’s just – they’ve been waiting so long, and I don’t want to let them down if I tell them –”

“Hey.” Eames starts again. “You’re not letting them down. Plenty of people decide they don’t want to be with their soulmate, it happens.”

Despite his better judgement, Eames’ words are soothing Arthur’s ragged breathing.

“How about we call a truce.” Eames starts, letting go of Arthur’s wrist to shuffle back and hold a hand out. “I’ll go in there, the perfect gentleman, and if you still decide you want someone different, I’ll help explain the whole thing.”

“What about you?” Arthur asks, frowning. “What do you get out of that?”

“If I help you with this, you help me do the exact same thing.” Eames states, plainly. “Cause I sure as hell know, even though I told them not to throw a party, as soon as I step through the door, the whole of England is gonna be there.”

Arthur huffs a laugh, and nods. “Okay. Deal.” He takes Eames’ hand, a perfect minor of only a few hours ago, but Eames’ expression is more sincere here, the softened lines and angles of his face giving him a comforting glow.

Arthur smiles back, letting his own face soften, and Eames nods before stepping out.

Arthur hasn’t forgotten his words, though. They bounce around his mind as they walk toward the door.

_If you still decide you want someone different._

They both agreed to this. Why, in the space of a few words, has Eames suddenly made Arthur feel as if he’s the only one who wants to find another soulmate?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible and horrible at updating but I can promise that I plan on finishing all my work in progress fics soon, it will happen

As soon as Eames steps inside, he’s greeted with the cheers of possibly a small army: party poppers are quite literally _popped in his face,_ and Eames stumbles, almost tripping over his own two feet as shouts of ‘ _welcome to the family!’_ boom throughout the hallway.

But then Eames is laughing, holding both arms open. “Happy to be here!” He shouts.

There’s laughter and noise until Arthur steps in behind him, takes one look at the whole scene and goes ashen.

 _“Mom!”_ He cries, in that wonderfully American way of his. “I _told_ you –”

“We couldn’t just do nothing!” Arthur’s mum says, laughing. “It’s only a little welcoming party.”

“It’s – it’s –” Arthur is looking around at the decorations with slowly burgeoning horror, and Eames almost has to stifle a laugh into his fist.

He doesn’t realise he’s done it at first. Arthur doesn’t even notice until it’s too late.

But Eames’ hand has navigated from his side to rest on the small of Arthur’s back, an unconscious, comforting gesture, and he only realises he’s done it when he feels Arthur stiffen under his touch.

Eames blinks, looks down at what he’s just done, and feels colour heat his face in flames. He retracts his hand in one swift, jerky motion, turning away to greet Arthur’s family as they introduce themselves and ignore Arthur, tense and silent by his side.

He takes in a slow, calming breath as he listens to one of Arthur’s relatives describe their daughter’s latest achievement at university, nods along and smiles, and tells himself, _one night. You promised you would get through one night. It’s not going to get worse._

So, of course, it does.

 

*

Arthur evades him throughout the whole night – ducking out of sight, slipping away whenever Eames actually gets close enough.

Of everything Eames ever expected from his bonding ceremony, this isn’t it.

He never actually expected much. Tried not to think too long and hard about it, otherwise he’d be just another pathetic wretch pining after the idea of a person he’s never met, too scared to go out and party less it comes back to bite him, too scared to do much of fucking anything.

It’s always a conversation you have after you’re comfortable enough with someone to call them a friend, it’s always, _‘so who do you think your soulmate will be?’_ , or, _‘when’s your bonding ceremony?’_ , but it’s all just _pointless_ because Eames could have talked about it for years and still never have been prepared for the stinging pain in his chest at Arthur’s cold shoulder.

Eames would love to pretend that he doesn’t give two shits, but it’s becoming abundantly clear that no matter what he does, it won’t make up for leaving Arthur quite literally standing at the altar.

 _There’s no point even trying,_ Eames thinks viciously, but regret burns like acid, deep in his gut. Why did he have to choose that moment to take a piss? Of all the moments in all the universe?

The image of Arthur’s face, illuminated by the harsh spotlight, scanning the crowd desperately flashes to mind, and Eames’ stomach cramps painfully.

 _Stupid_. Eames clenches his jaw, cursing himself. How could he have been so stupid? How could he have just _left_ Arthur there, to stand there and think that nobody was coming?

How could he have been so stupid to pretend that when he met his soulmate it wouldn’t matter at all?

Because of course if fucking matters, now he’s met Arthur, now he knows what he could have, only it’s all been fucked up because of a few minutes.

Arthur won’t look at him and Eames doesn’t really blame him, not really. He was angry to begin with, irritated at his stuck-up, unforgiving nature, but the more he thinks about it, the more he realises what an absolute tit he’s actually been.

“He was so worried, you know.” Arthur’s mum says, quiet so nobody else hears.

Eames glances up. “Hm?”

Her eyes dart to the side before coming back to him. “Arthur, he’s quite – reserved, doesn’t like to show a lot of his emotions.” She begins. “Keeps his heart close to his chest, you know? But he’s worried about the ceremony since as long as I can remember.”

Eames averts his gaze, the churning in his gut increasing tenfold.

Only Arthur’s mum smiles. “I think you two are suited, though.” She says softly. “I could see it in the car. You kept him relaxed, put him at ease.”

Eames feels his stomach cramping. “I didn’t –”

“Anyway.” She puts her hands together. “You’ve still to see the baby photos.”

Eames blinks. “The –”

“Shh, while he’s distracted.” Arthur’s mum places a finger to her lips, grinning, and nods over to where Arthur is talking with one of his relatives. Then she’s sneaking away, leaving Eames sat on the couch, bemused and vaguely worried.

Until she comes back with an album, shuffling close to Eames and opening it on both their laps.

“This is his first day of school.”

Eames stares down at a very small, very serious looking Arthur, holding the strap of his backpack and frowning up the camera.

At five years old.

Eames can’t help the startled laugh that escapes at that, and his mum is grinning.

“He was in such a huff that I left him, he didn’t speak to me for two days.” She says.

Eames laughs harder at that, curling in on himself, until she’s flicking the page and Eames sees the whole book is filled with Arthur: squinting in the sun with ice-cream, in a bath with bubbles on top of his head, sat over a drawing with paint spattered all over his face and all up his arms.

Eames feels something inside his chest crack and split open, looking at all these photos – looking at Arthur’s life spread across the pages before him, at eight, ten, fourteen, growing and stretching, his hair changing, face sharpening, but the private smile he offers the camera always staying the same.

“What are you – oh my god.” Arthur says quickly, and Eames whips his head up to see the Arthur of today crossing over to them.

Arthur’s mum snaps the book shut, but Arthur is already reaching out, scrambling toward them and practically falling into Eames’ lap.

Eames shuffles back fast, but Arthur is too late; his mum has the album hugged to her chest protectively.

“You saw nothing.” Arthur points a finger at him, but there’s something almost – _playful_ in the arch of his eyebrow, careless and teasing, and it makes Eames’ heart jolt.

Eames salutes, hoping that the blush he feels spreading across his cheeks isn’t obvious.

“It’s tradition!” Arthur’s mum laughs, and Arthur starts towards her, only as soon as he’s close enough he isn’t taking the photo album, he’s wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pulling her into his chest.

Eames watches, feeling, strangely, both a bit warm and slightly left out, as Arthur puts his chin on top of her head and rolls his eyes.

He looks mature and handsome then, with the charming, upturned corners of his mouth, the graceful way he sighs in resignation and something like fondness, but doesn’t even argue, doesn't cause a fuss.

Eames swallows, throat suddenly tight and sore, and thinks, _not uptight then._


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am terrible at updating, but I do always update. Also, this chapter kind of snuck in here, because I didn't intend for this to be a sick!fic, but I couldn't resist.

He walks down the stairs to the smell of breakfast. He can’t distinguish any single scents, only warmth and food and the vague atmosphere of happiness.

Arthur, incredulous, slows in his steps, his left foot barely touching the last as he peers around into the kitchen.

He finds Eames, wearing nothing but blue pyjama shorts sporting yellow ducks in purple ties, spatula in hand, poking at various pieces of sizzling fried bacon. 

Eames yawns impressively and idly scratches at his belly, musing the soft downy hair closest to his groin. 

It really shouldn’t be arousing.

 

*

To begin at the very start, it all happened last week.

 

*

“England?” Arthur blinks.

Eames grimaces. “Look, I know it’s a bit far –”

“A _bit?”_ Arthur repeats incredulously.

Eames tightens his mouth. “Yeah, a bit, but I did the party for you –”

Arthur crosses his arms, clenching his jaw.

Eames swallows, and has the decency to look contrite. “I’m not saying that you _have_ to come, but my mum’s just wondering why I’ve met your parents and you haven’t met mine.” Eames kicks the toe of his sneaker into the ground, looking down. “It just – it would really help me out, and then I’ll be out your hair and we can – get this whole thing sorted.”

Arthur feels his throat tighten, a constricting kind of sensation, but he only nods. Since the party last night, Eames has been a little more distant, a little more closed-off and curt, but he’s been dropping hints after every sentence about their ‘situation’.

Namely, ways to get out of it.

After Eames meeting his family – after _seeing_ Eames talking with his mum and putting up with his long-suffering relatives, Arthur had felt himself slowly beginning to soften, felt himself thinking, _maybe-_

But meeting his family only seemed to reignite Eames’ desire for them to annul their – _soulmateship,_ or whatever the hell it is.

Arthur isn’t really sure what _this_ actually is, but he thinks it might be affecting him more than he first gave it credit for.

He finds his cheeks heating whenever Eames is in the vicinity, finds his heart picking up pace, palms beginning to sweat, his throat going dry. There must be some biological reaction that comes to being in the presence of your soulmate.

While it’s true that the soulmate principle does work on attraction as well, that attraction is actually a _feature_ taken into account when the higher-ups are deciding who to pair together, it seems as if _‘better on paper’_ doesn’t actually qualify here, because Arthur is experiencing the full effects of attraction right now.

He wonders if it’s something in his blood: something that’s been taken out and catalogued away, some piece of DNA that narrowed down the search for his soulmate and identified his 'type'. He wonders if there was a long list, that got shortened down to only two – Eames, and his other soulmate.

Arthur wonders who his other soulmate is. He wonders if they’re as attractive as Eames, as witty, as charming.

Mostly, Arthur wonders if Eames finds him attractive.

And not just because of some stupid principle.

“Alright.” Arthur states. “One week. That’s it. And then you come back with me to end this.”

Eames looks at him for a long time. Arthur wonders what it is he’s seeing.

But then Eames just nods, unaffected, and turns the corners of his mouth down agreeably.

Arthur swallows and looks down at the ground.

 

*

As soon as they step off the plane, Eames takes a great gust of air into his lungs, breathing deep and closing his eyes.

Arthur looks at him, one eyebrow cocked.

“It’s the air here.” He waves a hand around. “It’s just so much fresher.”

“We’re still in the airport.” Arthur informs him.

Eames rolls his eyes. “Come outside.”

Only as soon as they do get outside, Arthur is squinting, eyes screwing up towards the sky.

It’s raining.

“Ah, this is the life!” Eames cries, throwing his arms open and embracing the downpour.

“Eames!” Arthur calls to him, while he himself turns his collar up and holds it over his head. “You’ll catch a cold!”

Arthur already _knows_ what Eames is about to say even before he says it, but Eames is turning to him with the biggest grin Arthur has ever seen on a human face, mouth opening to deliver some cheesy line.

“Never knew you cared, love!” He beams, and winks in exaggerated fashion.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re so predictable!” He shouts.

“Who wants unpredictable, eh!” Eames asks. “Just a bloody nuisance if you ask me! Never knowing what you get!”

Arthur huffs, even as he knows his mouth is curling upwards.

 

*

Eames’ family are, as it follows: loud, colourful, very patriotic, and very, _very_ welcoming.

Eames’ mother holds Arthur in her arms for a solid four minutes, and shows no signs of letting go until Arthur gently begins to retract himself, pulling back with a little more force each time until he’s eventually freed.

But then her eyes were wet, smiling at him in a soft, fond way as she murmurs, “welcome to the family”, and Arthur.

Arthur swallows, glancing down quickly, and nods, his throat already tight.

Eames’ father is a big, smiling man, who holds his arms open wide and slaps Arthur on the back a few times, while relatives of all age and size wave and grin, already itching to meet him.

He doesn’t know how Eames did it – how he remained so upbeat and passively, unconcernedly _happy_ the whole night, being introduced to all these people he knew he would never see again, and yet being told that he’s, _‘so handsome, bagged a good one’_ , and, _‘knows politics, how smart!’_

All these people are so eager – _desperate_ , even – to know a little more about him, to uncover any little snippet of his personality and be invited into his life, to welcome him into theirs. Eames’ mother trips over her tongue in talking about Eames and mangles the words because she’s speaking so fast, but then she blushes, covering her mouth and saying, ‘you must think I’m so silly.’

Arthur shakes his head fiercely. “Not at all.” He tells her. “I think you’ve been lovely, and Eames is very lucky to have such a wonderful mom.”

Dionne, as Arthur recently learned, laughs loud and puts her hand on Arthur’s arm. “Oh, my, Americans are awfully forward!”

Arthur frowns. _Was that too forward?_

“I’m – I’m sorry if –” he starts, embarrassed.

“Not at all!” She echoes his words, and squeezes his bicep.

“Right, mum, Arthur won’t have any skin left if you keep pulling at it.” Eames appears, and then Arthur feels an arm snaking around his waist and pulling his body flush into Eames’s side.

Arthur feels _himself_ flush, cheeks heating up in an instant.

This is the closest they’ve ever been to one another.

“Uh, it’s –” Arthur stutters, trying to say it’s alright, but the proximity is making his brain go all fuzzy and strange. Strange things are happening. He feels slightly faint.

“I’m stealing him for two minutes.” He hears Eames say, and then he’s being whisked away, past a blur of smiling faces and into the empty kitchen.

“Phew.” Eames says, letting him go instantly and going towards the fridge. “Thought you could use a break.” He says, bending to peer inside.

Arthur goes to nod, but he’s still feeling a little faint, and then it’s as if suddenly the jet-lag and the travelling and the weather all catch up to him in a rush, because his knees feel a little weak and his head feels all hot and clammy, and he clatters onto one of the kitchen chairs, putting his head between his legs.

“Arthur? Arthur!” Eames’ voice rises in panic and then he’s beside Arthur in the space of a second, bending down and touching Arthur’s knees with gentle hands, holding them in his palms.

“Arthur? Arthur, you alright?” Eames voice is soft and near, but Arthur shakes his head.

“I think I’m going to throw up, unfortunately.” He says, and then proceeds to throw up.

 

*

Arthur wakes to the sensation of warmth, and the feel of something carding through his hair.

It fades as he flutters his eyes open, and then he looks up to find Eames above him, grinning wide.

Arthur’s forehead furrows. “Where am I?” He murmurs groggily.

“You’re in bed.” Eames replies. “Mine, to be more specific.” And then he laughs, delighted. “Americans really can’t handle the English weather, can they?”

Arthur grumbles. “Maybe if you hadn’t made me stand outside for half an hour so you could dance in the rain.”

Eames just laughs louder, shaking his head. “Ah, typical American, can’t appreciate the finer things in life.”

“You know.” Arthur begins. “Ever since arriving in England, my nationality feels very attacked.”

Eames grins at him, eyes crinkled. “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

“The English are weirdly territorial over their own heritage.” Arthur muses, which makes Eames laugh more. Arthur thinks he might say anything, it if keeps making Eames laugh.

“You would be, darling, if you were English.” Eames tells him, beaming wide.

Arthur hopes his other soulmate is English.

 

*

He’s in bed for two days with a fever.

Eames takes his temperature and diagnoses him with a ‘virus’, which Arthur thinks is English speak for the flu.

The _flu._

Arthur can’t even enjoy being out of America, he can’t even go sightseeing or try exotic foods, because he’s bedridden with nausea, a stuffy, blocked nose, and an aching sore throat.

Eames looks after him. Cooks him something called a ‘ _proper English breakfast’_ , gives him medicine, checks up on him periodically throughout the day, shoos his mom out the room whenever she peeks in asking if he wants anything.

It makes Arthur feel warm, even with all the layers he’s currently bundled in. Makes him feel all – weird and squishy. He’s pretty sure it’s the delirium.

“Cheer up.” Eames begins, sitting at the edge of the bed gently. “You still want to see England?”

Arthur huffs, rolling onto his side. “I _planned_ to see England.” He croaks.

Eames is quiet. “You know what.” He starts, and clicks his fingers. “I’ll bring England to you.”

Arthur frowns, and sits up a little. “What –” he starts, but Eames is already walking away.

“I’ll be back!” Eames shouts.

Arthur huffs and collapses back onto the pillows.

 

*

It turns out, Eames meant, _I’ll bring back all the memorabilia that I can possibly find._

“Heh?” Eames asks, expectant, holding up a statue of the Big Ben. _“Heh?”_

Arthur raises his eyebrows, pressing his lips together to keep from grinning.

Eames sets it down on his bedside and holds up a finger. “Wait.” He says, and then produces from the bag a floppy top hat with the flag of Britain on it.  “Just wait.”

He puts it on, holds his arms out, and grins.

Arthur snorts, a snicker escaping, and then it’s all tumbling out – he bursts out laughing.

Eames grins at him, and then he’s pulling something else from the depths of his bag.

“I got you this, as well.” He states, and then clears his throat and hands it over.

A card. It’s a card.

Arthur stares at the card, stunned. It’s two cartoon owls sitting side by side in a tree branch. The title reads, _Get Well Soon._  

Arthur looks from Eames to the card. Eames, card.

He opens it.

_Roses are red,_

_Violets are blue,_

_Don’t be sick,_

_That’s just poo_

_(Ey)._

He blinks. Looks at Eames. The card. Eames. Card.

“I do admit, poetry is not my, uhr ... Finesse.” Eames begins.

The pause in Eames’ voice, the casually awkward _‘uh’,_ should be stuttering and ineloquent, but his voice is such a physical caress that the break is like a song.

Arthur raises a smooth eyebrow, still gazing at the carelessly scrawled writing.

Then he sets it on his bedside table, next to his statue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Give me comments, they are my lifeblood. Please, my crops are dying


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there! Long time no see.
> 
> So this is for my boyfriend, who, in case you didn't know, I have now been dating for one year! A full year, which is a lot! 
> 
> I'm not actually very good at expressing my emotions and feelings and other such things *shudders*, even though it should be the other way around, because I write cheesy ass stories for fun in my spare time, but there you have it. So! I hope you appreciate this Jamie, and find within it the cheese I am unable to tell you in person <333
> 
> Also ! this fic is finished, as I felt I had left it long enough and if I'm updating I may as well complete the whole thing, so next chapter will be up shortly.

True to his very word, as Eames very usually is, he arranges a meeting at the registry office for next week.

Eames thinks that the ‘registry office’ probably need a better name, because it sounds as though Eames is going down to sort out his taxes, but a quick google search confirms that these are the very people that one goes to when they want to annul their – er, _soulmateship?_ Unofficial marriage? Eames doesn’t really know exactly what to call it. He’s not exactly sure, either, that people actually do go to these other people in order to get rid of their soulmate, but there it is.

Such people exist, for other such people such as Arthur and Eames.

Getting off topic.

The topic that Eames was previously referring to, was his _promise keeping,_ and so when Arthur is finally feeling a bit better enough not to sneeze every few minutes and collapse into a coughing fit, Eames declares - very grandly and with much flourish - “the arrangements have been made.”

Arthur blinks at him. “Why do you sound like an assassin?”

Eames sighs, long-suffering. “The meeting, to annul our – whatever.” He waves a hand. “To get our other soulmates. I’ve just got off the phone with them, it’s two o’clock on Monday.”

Arthur stares at him for a very long time, so long, in fact, Eames is worried the cold has possibly given him a concussion.

Then he says, with very little inflection, “alright.”

“Now, you better get some rest, otherwise you won’t be fit for anything, never mind an annulment.” Eames ushers him back under the covers where he had been half-way through an (almost successful) attempt at escape.

Arthur nods, and follows willingly. Eames half-expects a complaint, or for him to put up some kind of fight, at least, but Arthur is quiet.

“Well then.” Eames begins, once Arthur is safely tucked in.

Arthur glares over the edge of the duvet, which admittedly, is tucked up to his nose.

Eames has the strangest urge to lean down and kiss said nose, and it overwhelms him so suddenly and strongly, he very nearly does it.

 _Another life, maybe,_ Eames thinks, shakes his head, and steps back.

“I’ll be outside if you need me.” He says, and heads out.

As soon as the door closes behind him, Eames leans against the wall, hot tears pressing into the backs of his eyes and burning their way up his throat.

He swallows them down, grits his teeth, and straightens up.

 

*

*

The thing about Arthur, is that he really is like nobody else Eames has ever met.

It probably sounds a bit cliché, in fact, Eames is well aware that is sounds _extremely cliché_ , but there is truly no other person like Arthur.

Nobody sighs so long-suffereingly at Eames’ attempts at humour, but still with such a lingering fondness in their exhaled breath that Eames just knows he isn’t truly fed up with the puns, which is why he persists harder.

Nobody else rolls their eyes _just so,_ nobody else says things in that wonderfully blunt, American way of his.

Nobody else can pull off Arthur’s style, which mainly consists of horrifically dull brown sweaters and black slacks (Arthur, in turn, argues that Eames’ colourful collection in his wardrobe is worse, but alas). Nobody else laughs the way Arthur does, a quiet snort, half-muffled into his hand and hidden away. Nobody else will give Eames that glowing sense of pride whenever they laugh, the warmth radiating inside his chest like firecrackers.

The point that Eames is trying to make in his very roundabout way, is that Eames wants an Arthur for a soulmate, but he won’t very well _get_ an Arthur, because there’s only _one_ Arthur.

Eames’ other soulmate, Eames concludes, will be nothing like Arthur.

And that. Well, that’s just bollocks.

It’s just ruddy awful. It’s complete and utter pish. It’s, as Arthur would probably say, in that vulgar non-British way that he says things, _shit_.

 

*

“You ready?” Eames asks, just outside the door to the office.

Arthur turns to him and grins wide and reassuring, a flash of teeth. Eames goes a bit wobbly around the edges. Just a bit, he can admit.

But he gathers himself up, takes a breath, and pushes the door open.

Waiting behind the door, is none other than Dominic Cobb.

Eames blinks. Arthur blinks.

They both freeze.

“Please.” Cobb begins, waving a hand. “Come on in.”

They enter slowly.

“I have to say, your situation is one of the more rare ones that we come across.” Cobb says. “Although it’s not totally new. You want to find your other soulmates, right?”

Arthur swallows, but doesn’t say anything.

“Yes.” Eames says, and ridiculously, _bows._ He straightens up almost immediately. “Yes, sir – professor – _Mr. Cobb.”_

Oh god, kill him. Kill him dead, _immediately_.

From the corner of his eye, Eames is almost sure he sees Arthur trying and failing not to smile.

It eases some of the tension, and Eames finds himself relaxing.

“Mr. Eames.” Cobb replies, with a tilt of his head. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“All good, let’s hope.” Eames smiles, grin full of faux charm. It just seemed the right thing to say, like in the movies and whatnot.

Arthur starts to grin, but tries to squash it down. An amused quirk keeps appearing and disappearing continuously at the corner of his mouth.

“Do you have a facial tick, Arthur?” Eames questions, turning to him.

Arthur’s smiles blossoms wide across his face, but he still attempts to turn the corners of his mouth down to tame the grin.

They both aren’t aware that they’ve seemingly gravitated toward each other until Cobb is clearing his throat pointedly and they both whip around, only to nearly crash into one another. 

Arthur jumps away so fast Eames achieves a blinding head rush.

“Um.” Eames says, ever eloquent.

“I have some good news, and some bad, I’m afraid.” Cobb states.

Eames blinks, a furrow appearing between his brows. He hadn’t thought there would be any complications. “Um?” He starts.

“Well, I thought something like this might happen, going by your first meeting.” He begins. “And so I did a little preparation, and found your other soulmates.”

There’s a beat of silence.

“Alright.” Eames says, when it’s clear nobody is going say anything else.

“Arthur, the good news is that your soulmate is a very wealthy man by the name of Robert Fisher.” Cobb says.

 _Wonderful_ , Eames thinks bitterly. _Very wealthy? Just how wealthy are they talking here? I has a water dispenser, alright._

“I’m afraid the bad news, Eames.” Cobb carries on. “Is that you don’t have another soulmate.”

There’s silence.

“Sorry?” Arthur booms.

 _Well,_ Eames thinks, _just as I thought. Ruddy awful._

“What do you mean _, he doesn’t have another soulmate?”_ Arthur demands.

“I don’t –” Eames starts, holding his hands up.

“He can’t just – _not_ have a soulmate, that’s not how it _works –”_ Arthur carries on.

“He does have a soulmate.” Cobb replies simply. “He has you.”

“That’s!” Arthur fumes, and clenches his jaw. “That’s not the same as having _two,_ everyone has _two,_ that isn’t _fair –”_

“Look, I said it was bad news.” Cobb tells them. “I’m sorry I can’t offer anything more.”

“That’s bullshit!” Arthur takes a step forward.

“Arthur, Arthur.” Eames catches hold of his arm, and a _darling_ almost slips out, but he manages to reign it back in. “It’s alright.” He says softly, and shakes his head when Arthur gives him a wide-eyed stare. “It’s alright.”

Arthur turns to give Cobb one last glare, and then he turns on his heel and walks out.

Eames, belatedly, follows.

“–think he is.” Arthur is muttering. “Just – _saying_ that, as if there aren’t about seven and a half billion people in the world, surely you’re compatible with _someone –”_

“Arthur.” Eames rushes up, catches a hold of his wrist, and pulls him to a halt. “Arthur, stop.”

Arthur’s mouth is open mid-rant, and he blinks at Eames, stalling.

“I’ll still go through with it.” Eames says. “This doesn’t change anything.”

Arthur is staring, eyes wide. “Wh – you think I’m angry because I think you’re going to _pull out?”_

Eames shakes his head. “Arthur, I _always_ keep my word, alright. I agreed to this, so –”

“Eames, I’m angry because you don’t – _you won’t have a soulmate!”_ Arthur shouts.

Eames almost smiles. _Almost_. “Arthur, love, I really couldn’t care less.” He says. “I didn’t want one anyway.”

Arthur stares at him for a very long time. “You don’t _want_ a soulmate?” He asks.

Eames swallows, and nods. “Yes.”

“Ever?” Arthur asks.

Eames’ throat tightens. “Yes.” He says thickly.

Arthur blinks, and looks down. “Alright.”

“Now.” Eames claps his hands together. “I would quite like to meet this Robert Fisher, trust-fund baby extraordinaire.”

Arthur snorts, but it’s weak and sharp, as if he hadn’t meant to do it. But then he shrugs, and heads back into the office.

Cobb glances up in surprise.

“Alright.” Arthur states, crossing his arms. “I’ll meet Robert Fisher. On one condition; you search harder for Eames.”

“Arthur –” Eames sighs.

“I think you’ve misunderstood.” Cobb starts. “When I say Eames doesn’t have another soulmate, I don’t mean that _literally_. There are probably thousands listed compatible in the database under Eames’ name, but they’re all already matched with their most compatible.” Cobb gestures between them. “In the same way that we matched the both of you.”

Arthur blinks, and looks lost. “Well, then I don’t … understand.” He says. “How do I still have one?”

“Because, Arthur.” Cobb says. “Robert Fisher’s soulmate died two years ago. Robert Fisher is twenty-one." He shrugs. "It’s simply down to luck.”

Arthur blinks, and his mouth hangs open.

“Well how do you know he’ll want to meet Arthur then?” Eames asks, and something hot and vice-like wraps around his chest, something like hope, blooming quick and wild. “Won’t he be – _mourning,_ or something?”

“Eames.” Cobb begins, very gently. “Everyone wants a soulmate.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here it is! The end, finally! I literally don't even remember when I started writing this thing, but I'm so happy to be posting the end! it started as a silly little idea and posting it here has given me the motivation and push to actually expand and give Arthur and Eames their happy ending! <333
> 
> This chapter is a mammoth 3K, but once I started writing, I literally couldn't stop. I wanted to finish it for me and the bf's one year anniversary, I was Determined, and so I hope you like my take on your favourite movie Jamie! *hides in a corner*
> 
> If the POV changes seem odd and not exactly in any kind of order, that's because they aren't. I really wrote whatever chapter sounded better in Arthur's or Eames' voice, so apologies if that was a nuisance!

Cobb must be a rather wise man, as it turns out that Robert Fisher does want to meet Arthur.

Only he also wants to meet Eames.

“Wants to meet _me?”_ Eames squeaks.

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t know. Says he wants to meet both of us. I just got the phone call from Cobb this morning.”

“So, like – is it an estate? A mansion?” Eames asks.

Arthur is quiet for a few moments. “Cobb says Robert will pick us up.”

“Ah.” Eames nods.

Arthur still looks uncomfortable, and he grimaces at that. “He asked – if we have any problems with flying?”

Eames blinks. “Flying.” He states.

Arthur huffs. “Look, it’s probably not as bad –”

“He can’t just. Get us in a car, no?” Eames asks, and already, his blood is heating up inside him, hot enough to boil, to _burn_. “Seriously? Flying?”

“You’re the one that wanted me to meet him so much.” Arthur hisses. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t for you –”

“But a plane – wait, _what?”_ Eames grinds to a screeching halt.

Arthur looks embarrassed, his cheeks going red, colour crawling up his throat, but he clears his throat and keeps his gaze steady. “I mean, you were so insistent.”

A sudden, terrifying fear grips Eames, that he’s misunderstood everything, that he’s completely and utterly misread the entire situation and is about to make the biggest fuckup in recorded history. “Do you – do you mean so insistent on – on finding our other soulmates?” He can barely get the words out, his throat is so clogged up.

But then Arthur is scoffing, turning away. “No!” He laughs. “So insistent on this – meeting! He sounds like a real prick to me, if you ask me, if you’re – I already said me.” Arthur rubs at the back of his neck laughingly, and shakes his head. “No, Eames, it’s not because you’ve been insistent on us finding our other soulmates. That was the whole point, wasn’t it?” Arthur laughs.

Eames doesn’t really know why it hurts so much. He already knew this, it’s not new knowledge. And already-known, very much _not_ new knowledge shouldn’t be as – _painful_. It’s not allowed to be this painful. It’s just fact, the sky is blue, Arthur doesn’t want him. These are the things printed in history books and taken as common information.

But it is painful, and it does hurt, and Eames simply nods. “Well.” He says, but it comes out rough. “Let’s give the poor sod a chance, hm?”

Arthur looks at him. He just looks, for a long time, as if he’s getting his fill, as if he's memorising Eames’ features.

That hurts more, for some reason. That makes Eames ache, in a way that’s very different to sharp pain. It's deep-rooted and drawn-out.

There’s nothing else Eames can take Arthur looking at him like that as, because it’s plain as day on his face, in the way his eyes rove over Eames’ expression and trail over his nose, his chin like a caress.

Because Eames doesn’t know why Arthur is doing this, if he’s the one leaving. If he's the one that _suggested_ all this. So Eames simply stands there, and endures it, and very pointedly doesn’t do the same.

“Alright.” Arthur nods, as if Eames hadn’t just caught everything he’d been doing for the last few seconds.

And Eames nods too.

 

*

Eames has decided to give the bastard a chance.

He already hates him. He already hates the name Robert.

He’s got a bloody _uncle_ called Robert. He’ll never look at the man again.

And Fisher? What kind of idiot surname is that? It sounds like fish fingers, only worse, because it’s _not._

So, Eames is giving him a chance. He’s giving him a chance as him and Arthur buckle themselves into a helicopter, put fuzzy headphones their ears, and take off.

He’s still giving him a chance as they land in, yes, just as Eames had suspected, some kind of _mansion._

The backyard is the size of Eames’ fucking _village_.

And Eames is still giving him a chance as they’re led through sprawling hallways with paintings decorating the walls.

But as soon as they enter some kind of sitting room, and Eames spots the bastard sitting on a settee – a bloody _settee_ – he’s done.

He gives up. That’s it. One chance too many, my friend. Eames gave him all the chances in the world. But this really takes the pickle.

He’s wearing a goddamn _suit._

Robert stands, stretching upwards like a cat, and smiles as he makes his way over, one hand held out.

“Hullo, I’m Robert.”

Of course. Of course he’s bloody English. Of _fucking_ course.

Eames tries on a smile, but it fits tight and pained over his features. “Eames.”

He shakes Roberts cool hand, and Robert laughs.

“Ah. You’re not my soulmate.” He says, and then frowns. “Do I detect a hint of an English accent?”

_You do, but it’s not your fucking accent, you posh sod._

“Yes.” Eames nods, and steps back.

Robert turns the corners of his mouth down, considering, but then he turns to Arthur.

“And you’re – Arthur, I take it?” He smiles, a big beaming thing.

Arthur nods, expression neutral, reaching out.

Now, Eames has never really believed in the whole soulmate malarkey. Never really believed that all humans are just animals driven by baser biology, that a pair of soulmates are territorial, possessive even.

But when Robert reaches out and clasps Arthur’s hand, Eames feels a very _real_ growl build in the base of his throat, feels his hands itch with the urge to remove Arthur from the entire situation.

_Calm, Eames. Keep calm. Look around you – look at the furniture, the rooms. Imagine Arthur living here, eating cheeseboards every day for the rest of his life and not worrying about another thing ever again._

It soothes him, somewhat, and Eames keeps that image of Arthur sprawled across a silk settee, popping grapes and –

Suddenly, the image of a _naked_ Arthur pops into his head, spread across Egyptian cotton sheets, along with a figure at the doorway, Robert grinning like the Cheshire cat –

“Hh – do excuse me.” Eames coughs, clearing his throat to cover the involuntary noise he just made.

“Are you alright?” Robert asks. “Need any water?”

Eames shakes his head, cheeks hot. “Perfectly well, thank you.”

“Well.” Robert gestures over to the couches. “Sit, please.”

Arthur nods, and they both cross over to sit.

Eames picks a space at the end of the sofa, and Arthur follows, sitting beside him almost immediately without even bothering to wait and see where Robert is going.

It sends a rush of satisfaction through him, and Eames notices Robert watching them with shrewd eyes. He just manages to keep from grinning – just barely.

“So.” Robert begins. “Tell me why you don’t want to be soulmates.”

Eames and Arthur blink.

“It’s not –” Arthur starts.

“We don’t – _don’t_ want –” Eames starts, but then Arthur turns to him with an incredulous tilt of his head, and Eames backpedals desperately.

“Well, we – it’s more, like – you see, what it is –”

“Eames is an ass.” Arthur states, bluntly.

That cuts, cuts deep. “Hey!” Eames can’t help cry, like a baby wanting to be soothed.

Until Arthur turns to him with a sly grin, and Eames finds a huff of laughter escaping.

“Yeah, we’ll you’re –” he flounders, because he actually can’t think of any insults, and Arthur sits back and crosses his arms.

 _“Stubborn.”_ Eames settles on, and almost wants to cringe, because it sounds more fond than anything, like something a woman would say at her and her husband’s fifty-year anniversary.

But Arthur raises his eyebrows playfully. “Is that so?”

Eames goes to open his mouth, until he realises they’re ignoring their host, and turns around.

“I – sorry, I didn’t –” Eames stammers.

“Please, carry on.” Robert waves a careless hand and a grin.

They fall silent.

“Don’t let me stop you.” Robert adds.

“We’re not.” Arthur starts, but doesn’t finish, and simply trails off awkwardly. “Um.”

“So why did you want to meet us both?” Eames asks, simply to get conversation going.

“I had to check out the competition.” Robert replies with a grin, and Eames feels that familiar feeling rise, that blood-boiling, hot feeling, and he clenches his hands.

“I’m joking.” Robert carries on, and leans forward slightly. “I’m not your enemy, Eames.” He says softly, with a smile.

Eames blinks, and opens his mouth, until Robert just comes out and asks, “why do you want different soulmates when you’re in love with one another?”

There’s silence.

 _“WHAT?”_ Arthur screeches.

Eames’ heart is pumping, throwing itself against his ribcage repeatedly. “I – I – I –” is all he seems capable of stuttering, the words _not_ and _don’t_ evading his grasp.

“I’m – I’m –” Arthur stutters, just as much at a loss, and Eames turns to him with wide eyes, his heart speeding for an entirely different reason.

“You – do you –” Eames points, but Arthur is just as wide-eyed and white-faced.

 _“You_ – are you –” Arthur grapples at words, mouth hanging open and finger shaking in Eames’ face.

“NO!” Eames squeals, in the highest pitch humanly possible, and then sees the way more blood drains from Arthur’s face.

“Oh, for fuck – _yes!_ Yes, Arthur!” Eames cries, and buries his head in both hands. “If it wasn’t bloody, incredibly obvious by now, you know I fucking love you!”

“WHAT!” Arthur booms, louder than the first.

“It’s not as if it makes a difference anyway!” Eames cries, and turns away, stands up, because he can’t look at Arthur right now. “You might as well bloody know it, if its’ the choice between me and a – a fucking mansion!” His voice chokes on that, and he scrubs his face.

“Eames.” Arthur starts, his voice low and deadly.

“No, Arthur, I don’t want to hear it!” Eames shouts. “I don’t want to hear you had no fucking clue and it’s all such a revelation, _of course_ you knew, I took you to meet my parents, I made you bloody _soup_ , right, I couldn’t have been _more_ obvious –”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU DIDN’T WANT A SOULMATE!” Arthur cries, almost at pterodactyl levels of screeching now. “You said that to my _face –”_

“Only once I got told I had none left!” Eames turns around, throwing his arms out, to find Arthur standing as well.

 _“You have me!”_ Arthur cries.

“That’s exactly why I said it!” Eames booms back. “I knew you would feel obligated –”

“Eames, you’ve _always_ had me, alright!” Arthur shouts. “I was angry, I was _embarrassed_ , I said I wanted another soulmate because I wanted to make you angry too, not – not because I wanted you to _agree_ with me!” He waves a hand. “After I forgave you, it should have been pretty ‘obvious’ –” Arthur violently finger quotes – “that I didn’t want to go through with our stupid _bet!”_

Eames is staring, wide eyed, and feels as if he’s just been tasered in the chest, shot and electrocuted all at once.

“But.” He wheezes. “But, Arthur, look at all this – you could have _all this_ –”

“I don’t WANT all this!” Arthur cries, throwing an arm out in an erratic movement. “It’s all worth _shit_ , Eames! I want you, I just want _you!”_

Eames is incapable of speech for several moments.

“Wh.” He rasps. “Really?”

Arthur’s chest is heaving. “Yes.” He states, and looks up at Eames with something like anger and something like hope so he just looks – angrily hopeful, or hopefully angry, or one of the other.

All Eames seems able to do is stand there, speechless.

“Eames.” Arthur grits out. “Are you going to do something?” How can one make something sound angry and also sound hopeful at the same time?

At a loss, Eames finds himself tearing up.

“Oh, Arthur.” He gasps, and then he strides across the room and takes Arthur into his arms.

Arthur comes easily, and Eames presses Arthur to his chest, squeezing hard and tight, and buries his face into Arthur’s shoulder, smelling his smell and his musty jumpers. he hacks out a wet laugh, wrapping his arms around him tighter. He wants to hug Arthur twice as much as he is right now, he wants his arms to _engulf_ Arthur and loop around him multiple like some kind of weird alien arms or that cartoon Mr. Tickly that really, honestly _still_ freaks Eames out a bit –

But then Arthur is wrapping his own arms around Eames, tightening to the point of pain, one arm snaking around his waist and pressing them together while his other wraps along Eames’ shoulder to hold the back of his head.

Eames feels as if his heart will burst.

“I thought – I thought I was going to lose you.” Eames manages to choke, which is a bit sappy and makes his cheeks sting.

But then Arthur is pressing his hot cheek to Eames and murmuring in his ear, “you wouldn’t have lost me, I wasn’t planning on leaving, idiot.” Arthur pulls back, and his eyes are bright are fevered, a bit wet, but they can’t be much worse than Eames’.

“I was going to show you how much I didn’t care about all this, I was going to tell Robert I didn’t – _Robert.”_ Arthur’s eyes widen, and they both glance over.

The couch is empty.

Arthur and Eames breathe out sighs of relief.

“Nice lad.” Eames decides, and Arthur chuckles, pressing their foreheads together. Eames runs his hands up and down Arthur’s sides, and it still makes him dizzy that he gets to do this.

“Arthur.” Eames exhales.

“I’ve not stopped thinking about kissing you since I saw you.” Arthur breathes.

Eames’ stomach swoops. “Really?” He huffs, although it’s shaking. “Even when I was late?”

“I just wanted to angry-snog you.” Arthur tells him, and Eames laughs.

“I thought about doing it, at my party.” Arthur confesses.

“You should have.” Eames tells him. “I would have been _most_ receptive.”

Arthur breathes out a laugh. “That right?”

Eames nods, but before there can be any more conversation, bends down and presses their mouths together.

Arthur leans up instantly, slotting their lips against one another, catching his bottom one with a scrape of teeth and a playful pull. Eames huffs a chuckle into Arthur’s mouth, his blood singing with the contact, the soft feel of Arthur’s lips on his, the wet-damp slide.

It’s not so much that Eames is _kissing_ Arthur as it is the knowledge that Eames is kissing _Arthur_.

And then Arthur’s mouth opens up underneath his, and a tongue touches his as his warm body presses harder into Eames, and Eames finds his hand lifting to Arthur’s face, landing gently on the curve of his jaw, stroking a thumb over his sharp cheekbone.

Arthur pulls away breathless, and they both pant into one another, grinning.

“You sayin’ we could have been doing that all along?” Arthur exhales, one eyebrow cocked.

Eames laughs. He’s not got much of a witty reply, not really got much of a _brain_ at the moment, and so he simply tightens his hold on Arthur and nods. “Yeah.” He answers honestly. “If you’d done, that at any point, I think I would have forgotten everything, including the whole soulmate thing.”

Arthur’s cheeks are wonderfully pink and dimpled as he beams, eyes squinted and crinkled in happiness.

 

*

They eventually find Robert later, once they’re re-directed by the butler, in the gardens.

“Ah.” Robert closes the book he was reading, and looks up with a grin. “Finally sorted yourselves out?”

Eames clears his throat, and reaches out with the hand not currently in Arthur’s. “Thank you.” He clasps Robert’s, and nods sincerely this time.

Robert laughs. “I could see it a mile away. When Cobb told me about the situation, I wondered what the problem was. To hear there was, well effectively, _none_ , I knew you two might need a helping hand.”

Eames is blushing, and Arthur scratches awkwardly at the nape of his neck, ducking his head down, but his cheeks are red too.

Robert smiles at them, then, but there’s still something wistful and almost longing in his eyes, as he gazes at them both.

It makes Eames’ throat clench, clog up, and he finds his grip on Arthur tightening.

They say their goodbyes, and make promises to return, although Eames thinks they might actually, _genuinely_ return, if not to just take full advantage of cheeseboards and lounge around a mansion all day.

They have friends in high up places, now.

They don’t end up telling their parents about the whole debacle, because it would take too long to explain, but they’re breathless and happy when they get back, and Eames can’t stop _grinning_ , even as his cheeks hurt and his face is stretched painfully wide.

“You’re awfully happy nowadays.” His mum tells him as he’s moving about the kitchen, humming to himself.

“Mm.” Eames just says, and beams, and leans down to kiss her cheek.

 

*

It only starts to niggle at him afterwards, the image of Robert's huge palace, with acres of land and probably billions in gold, and then it fully comes to a head when they’re in bed one night.

“Ugh.” Arthur huffs, as he wriggles around, but still finds no room to move. “Should have just shacked up with that Robert.” He snorts.

Eames stiffens, and even as he can hear the light-hearted note in it, he still turns.

“Do you.” He starts, and coughs. “Do you mean that?”

Arthur stops fidgeting and pauses. “Is this a serious question?” He blinks.

Eames feels his cheeks heat, but picks at the sheets and shrugs, refusing to meet Arthur’s eyes.

“Eames.” Arthur shuffles closer, pressing himself along Eames side. “I really hope you’re joking.”

Eames huffs, rolls his eyes. “I just mean – you’d be living the life of luxury –”

“Eames –” Arthur starts.

“No, no, just hear me out.” Eames holds up a hand, cutting off Arthur’s words. “You really could be living in a mansion, Arthur, and sometimes I think about if we had never met –”

Arthur makes a noise, but Eames shushes him.

“If I had never showed up to the ceremony, they probably would have paired you up with Robert –”

“Ea –”

“And you would have gotten to know him, you would’ve probably fallen in love with him –”

“That’s enough.” Arthur states, and there’s an angry flush to his cheeks as he sits up. “How can you say that? Getting to know someone doesn’t guarantee you’ll fall in _love_ with them. I fell in love with _you._ Nobody else.”

Eames swallows around the lump in his throat, unable to articulate his thoughts. “But –” he starts.

Arthur holds up one broad palm, a mirror of Eames' earlier move. “No. Eames, I don’t think you get what I’m saying. I love you. I love your stupid cockney accent, and the way you say things, and even when you say something that doesn’t even make _sense_ and blame it on me not understanding British. I love your smile and your laugh and your – just, I love _everything_ about you, because everything is _you_ , and nobody else.” Arthur is flushed and embarrassed, but he looks determined to carry on, despite it all. “I love your family and how close you are with them, I love how kind you are to people you care about, and I love your humour and your complete _obsession_ with dogs –”

“Arthur.” Eames chokes, clogged up.

“And all of this isn’t because you’re my soulmate.” Arthur finishes. “It’s not because we’re compatible and I’m just, somehow, chemically _supposed_ to love you. It’s not because of our DNA or our biology. It’s because you’re _you,_ Eames.”

Eames shakes his head, cups Arthur’s face in his hands.

“And Robert isn’t you.” Arthur whispers.

“I love you.” Eames tells him. “A lot lot.”

Arthur chuckles, shaking his head, but he presses their foreheads together.

“And not because you’re my soulmate.” Eames continues. “Fuck, Arthur, I think I could have been a 99.9% match with someone and I wouldn’t love them the way I love you.”

Arthur laughs, kissing the corner of Eames’ mouth, and then he pulls back to raise his eyebrows. “But we _were_ matched.” He says. “So they must be doing something right.”

Eames blinks. “Fuck. Fuck, you’re right Arthur.” He realises.

Arthur rolls on top of him, grinning down. “I think one day, you’re going to have to admit that the whole soulmate thing isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Eames thinks he’s come around to Arthur’s way of thinking already as he rises up to meet his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am incapable of writing a fic that doesn't end in shouted love confessions and very angry make-outs and Feelings. Oh well.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading!! Comments and all are loved and appreciated, I adore every single one <333

**Author's Note:**

> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33
> 
> If you want to find ways to support me, you can find them there! (*^▽^*)( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉﾟ


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